Everything's In Its Place
by MasterMind v.2.0
Summary: Can a person completely change themselves with the spoken word? One Esset retrieval agent, Brad Crawford, is searching for a telepath to complete his team, but is he on the right track? Or is the lost boy he's told about exactly what he's looking for? Sch


Back with something new, after a eternity of idleness. (Or so it seems that way.)

I actually wrote this about 5-6 months ago, but I just rediscovered it, and decided that it was that crappy.

Enjoy.

(Sorry about any confusing formatting, QuickEdit is being a bizznitch. XD ...and not letting me do what I want it to do.)

Disclaimer: Hi. My name is Koyasu Takehito, and I'm a very successful Japanese man with bad teeth. I own Weiss Kreuz. However, I'm inhibiting the body of an 15 year old girl. 

Yeah, that makes sense. 

I don't own Weiss Kreuz.

_German translations: _

_du bist Schuldig (you are guilty)_

_ich bin Schuldig (i am guilty)_

_ich heiße Schuldig (i am called guilty)_

_(And I think that's all.)_

**Everything's In Its Place **

**By: MasterMind v.2.0**

_I'm the self-inflicting, mind detonator_

_Yeah. I'm the one infected, twisted animator…_

_Prodigy, Firestarter_

The voices had always been there, for as long as he could remember. His first memory was of the first time he had heard the voices, and he still knew what they had said.

'_I hate him…what did I do to deserve a child as hell bound as he is…'_

'_I'm tired of this family…I just want to kill them and leave… there's no reason for either of them to live…'_

They were the thoughts of his mother and father, and from then on he was afraid. He couldn't tell them what he heard, so he did the only thing he could think of- he ran.

He was six years old and he was alone. He fled from his hometown of München and ran away all the way up north to the city of Berlin- a place where he thought anything could happen.

People didn't question him, just ignored him, another child on the streets. They insulted him in their minds, unknowingly letting him hear every word that they said.

'_Oh great, another useless whore populating our town…this one looks young though, he must be worthless.'_

'_Hmm…he's going to be beautiful…maybe he'll still be here in a few years, then he'll be ripe for the picking…'_

'_Why don't I just kill him and get it over with…he's going to die anyway.'_

Despite their comments, he kept on living. At first he refused any offers he received, be they for drugs or sex. Then eventually, he gave up.

Ten years passed… the boy was now seventeen. He'd found a job working in a low-rate strip club, and once people laid eyes on the skinny redhead, they were entranced. He soon became the most well known stripper in the underground world. People clamored for him and he was happy. Then he met Brad Crawford.

It was just a normal night, and he'd finished his routine. He walked back to his room, counting his money as he went. Tonight had been a good night, with him making well over six hundred dollars. As he flipped through the money, he found a note enclosed within. Slightly ticked off at first, his anger turned to a small dose of well-hidden panic.

_I'm coming for you tonight. I know what you can do, and I can teach you to use it. We need you on our side, don't be afraid of what you can do, for you can use it for evil…and you know you're evil. You've been told it all your life…and it's true._

_-C_

He stared at the note for a few minutes, and then set it down, his eyes wide. Raising a hand, he started to rub at his forehead, trying to calm the voices down. He was no longer taking drugs, as he found that the silence he received was only temporary, and once gone, the voices returned worse than ever. Now he just suffered, because he thought he deserved to. After all, he was evil. Or at least that's what he had just been told.

Sitting down on the cheap folding chair the club had provided for him in his 'dressing room' the boy got lost in thought. Who was that man, and why him? He'd never told anyone before; he'd never told them that he heard voices in his mind, and that the voices made sense. He knew they weren't his own thoughts; he'd done a bit of research on his own time, which was rare, and found other people had the same problem. It was called 'telepathy' and it had told him that he had the power to read people's minds and manipulate their minds to his own fancy.

He'd tried that once, on a man who'd wandered in a couple of weeks ago. He'd been tall, with dark hair and amber eyes covered by glasses. He didn't look like he'd belonged, with the suit he'd worn, so Christian had tried to manipulate the man's mind to get him out of the club… for some reason, the man made him uncomfortable. But all he'd hit was a strong wall of some sort. Then the would-be victim had glared at him, and left.

He didn't know what he'd done wrong.

There suddenly came a slight knocking on his door, and despite having grown up on the streets, he answered it without a second glance. Familiar amber eyes stared back at him.

"Christian. You have to come with me. I can help you, although I cannot promise you will like what you discover."

The boy blinked. It was the same man he'd tried to manipulate. What was he doing here, and how did he know his name?

"I knew we were going to run into issues here. I'm Brad Crawford, and I will be in charge of you from now on. Now come, we're leaving."

Being a teenager, even though he was far from typical, Christian still held the mindset of rebellion. So once the stran – _Brad_ had commanded him to go with him, Christian leaned back in his chair and yawned, showing his intentions to the world. There was no chance in hell he was going with this man.

"Christian, you _will _come with me."

After another yawn, and a drawled 'no'; Brad Crawford, Esset retrieval agent, knew he had a problem. This kid was the one he was supposed to recruit for his new team? The kid didn't seem to be anything special...in fact, besides the botched mind-invasion earlier; there'd been no indication that the kid even had an actual gift for telepathy.

Crawford stared sternly at Christian, who stared back at him, just as serious. For a few terse seconds, no one moved, and it looked as though they were simply having a staring contest.

Finally Crawford blinked, and the voices started flowing in the boy's mind; louder than they ever had before.

'_...drugs...drowning...stupid bitch...kill...just like that...more...she doesn't know...i'm useless...need more...just a simple cut...nothing less...worthless slut...du bist Schuldig...'_

"THAT'S ENOUGH! MAKE IT STOP! I DON'T CARE HOW, JUST MAKE IT STOP!" With his wailing cries continuing, the formally strong boy jumped out of his chair and curled up on the ground at Crawford's feet. A barricade broke, and years worth of emotions pouredforth from his lips.

"...I just want it to stop...I do, you know. I hear voices; I hear them all the time. You believe me, don't you? You came because you know. If you know, can't you help me? Can you make them stop? Can you...?"

Staring down at the sobbing boy on the floor, Crawford nodded once. He placed a hand on Christian's shoulder, and started to concentrate. "Now, listen closely. I shall only say this once. If you wish to help yourself, then you will think. Block the other voices out. Imagine a brick wall. I will be of no assistance to you, some things you must learn to do on your own. Otherwise, you'll never succeed."

Christian sniffled once more, then stopped and started to think. He was still skeptical about this new man, but was too desperate to let a possible cure go by untried.

After a few minutes, the voices stilled. Except for one which continued in his head like a chant.

'_du bist Schuldig...du bist Schuldig...du bist Schuldig...du bist Schuldig...'_

Glancing up, he noticed that Crawford was halfway out the door, and looked ready to leave.

"Wait...aren't you going to do anything else? Demand something of me? Don't you think I owe you something for this? You can do anything you want..."

'_du bist Schuldig!'_

Christian watched as Crawford slowly spun around, and walked toward him. The boy wasn't sure what to expect. The man's physical appearance gave off the air that he was a controller, a dominant. Christian never was good at playing submissive; it clashed with his actual mindset.

'_du bist Schuldig...du bist Schuldig...'_

The phrase was on repeat in his mind, and more he stared at the moving form of Crawford, the louder it got.

Christian bowed his head once Crawford drew near, only to have it yanked up so he was staring into the older man's eyes. Christian only had time to open his mouth slightly before he was kissed.

That wasn't what the boy had expected. He'd expected pain, and for the older man to hit him for disobeying his orders. But, no. Instead, here he was being kissed. It felt almost romantic, and Christian eagerly returned the kiss, only to be shoved away.

"Do not take that the wrong way. That was only a kiss of dominance. I am in charge of you now, and whatever you do shall be regulated by me. There will be no more of this promiscuous behavior." With that, Crawford turned and walked away, expecting Christian to follow.

The boy stared at the ground as the moaning chant continued. In time he started speaking, eventually getting his thoughts and his speech intertwined.

'_du bist Schuldig..' _"Ich bin Schuldig..." _'...du bist Schuldig' _"Ich bin Schuldig." _'..du bist Schuldig...' _"Ich heiße Schuldig..." _'du bist Schuldig...' _"Ich heiße Schuldig..."_ 'DU BIST SCHULDIG!" _"ICH HEIßE SCHULDIG!"

With the last strangled yell, Crawford turned around, expecting to find the boy once again curled up on the floor, crying. He still didn't understand how this boy would help him advance his plans; he was too much of a crybaby.

Instead, he found what seemed to be a completely new human being. Standing tall, Christian had a devil may care smirk on his face, and his eyes had hardened to the point of whenever he looked at you, you felt violated, and somehow you knew it was all your fault.

Crawford smirked. Now this was the attitude he wanted for his team. "Christian-"

"Schuldig."

Crawford's smirk grew. "_Schuldig_, then. Come with me."

Schuldig sauntered over to Crawford and rested his arm on the man's shoulder. "Nah, Brad-"

"Crawford."

"_Bradley. _I think you'll be following me." Schuldig grinned and patted Crawford's shoulder.

All the sudden, there was a loud crash as Schuldig hit the floor, having been viciously slapped by Crawford.

"You _will_ follow _me_. I am Crawford, your leader, and you will address me as so. My name is not Brad, nor Bradley. I will be perfectly civil to you unless you do something stupid, as you just did. You are my subordinate, Schuldig, and although I have no doubts that you are perfectly capable of surviving on your own, I see that you do not want to. Everyone seeks out company. Together, Schuldig, we can accomplish many things. You are different from the rest of humanity, just as I am."

Schuldig slowly dropped his hand from his cheek, which was still radiating heat and adorned a handprint. The smirk slipping back into place, he stated his view on Crawford's speech. "So, you're saying we're freaks. Everyone knows us freaks have to stick together. So let's go. If me following you gets you off, then to each his own, I suppose. I'll follow you, Br- Crawford, if we can just get out of here." And with that, Schuldig turned and strolled out the door.

Crawford walked a bit faster in order to catch up with the telepath. His dreams were going to come true. Schwarz was in the making, and once they were formed there was going to be no stopping them. Inside his mind, Crawford smiled. Schuldig sensed this, and turned his head back to stare at Crawford, before grinning.

"_We're coming, world. Get ready for us 'cause we're nothing you've seen before. And nothing you'll ever see again. Come, love, let's destroy the world we know. Let's tear down the barriers we've made."_

"Now is not the time for dramatic speeches, Schuldig."

A single shrug.

Later that week, Schuldig would have a tombstone set up in a remote area of a Berlin cemetery. It simply read 'Christian'. People wouldn't remember him, and he didn't really care.

That day, Christian had died, and Schuldig had been birthed in his place. Gone was the lonely, lost boy; replaced instead with a twisted, sadistic murderer. And Schuldig liked it that way.

**_Fini_**

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